The Murder Club
by Hane no Zaia
Summary: AU. "It's kind of like Fight Club; the idea, mind you, and not the movie." "You don't talk about the Murder Club." "Not usually, no. Simply put, it's a support group for serial killers." "You do realise how that sounds, right?"
1. Chapter 1

_This originally came about back in 2014, progressing quickly before leaving off. Browsing my hard drive, I rediscovered it, read it and deemed it interesting enough to post. If there's interest and demand, then I'll probably post some more._

 **-o0o-**

They called it the Murder Club. Actually, it was only who Tyki had taken to calling it that mentally, since he had first learned of it and unwittingly joined it as well.

 _They_ called it something else; the Noah family or the True Apostles of God and whatnot. Personally, Tyki could care less about what the others called it and why they called it such. It was a Murder Club, plain and simple; a support group for the casual killer, although obviously, not just any riffraff qualified.

As far as qualifications went, it was less about the kill count and more about doing it with style. Some of the members of the esteemed Murder Club had had plenty of opportunities to refine theirs.

Despite having recently turned twenty-six, Tyki Mikk still counted as one of the least experienced in the group. This could definitely have bothered him, but it really didn't. After all, he was just your average guy with a taste for murder and fries. As a killer, he was still young; young in the sense that he had not yet been active for very long and also young in the sense that he had only just begun to establish proper routines.

As far as classification went, Tyki liked to vary his methods; didn't want to get stuck in just one shape or repetitive patterns. This aversion of his might have had something to do with his evidently drifting nature and the vagrant lifestyle that had come of it, maybe.

Regardless, killing was Tyki's hobby. It was also his lifestyle; an important part of it anyway. He killed men and women, young and old, rich and poor. What they were and what they were not were of little concern to him. He just liked the thrill and the satisfaction that killing them brought him; much like a man gives himself a pat on the back after a day's hard work.

Some of the senior members of the so called Murder Club claimed that Tyki was still in his experimenting phase; that he was still right in the middle of trying out different things in search of his own niche. Perhaps they were right and perhaps they were not; it was all the same anyway.

Unlike most other members of the Murder Club, Tyki did not have any specific method or favourite type of victim. Road, a young but senior member of the club, preferred hunting those with a taste for children. The methodical Lulu Bell preferred hunting those who preyed upon women. Wisely, young and but talented, preferred preying on the feeble-minded, driving them to kill others and then themselves. Sheril, Tyki's actual brother, was a sadist. The JasDevi Duo liked to play games with their victims before killing them. As for the others and their modus operandi, Tyki figured that he still knew far too little to pass judgement. After all, even though the Murder Club did meet up on occasion to discuss and brag about their respective kills, some were less elaborate about their escapades than others.

The Duke, their undisputed leader, was decidedly tight-lipped about his. So were most of the new members, with Wisely being the notable exception. Tyki himself was also something of an exception to the rule, although he was by no means as fresh as the others. Obviously though, this didn't prevent the others from making jokes at his expense.

Frankly, Tyki hated the biannual get-togethers; they were basically the biannual reunion of a family connected not necessarily through blood but rather through common interests.

Family reunions demanded action, and there was one just weeks ahead. Having managed to withstand his urge to commit murder for almost six months, Tyki found himself in a bit of a pickle. He also found himself driving a car, heading northwest on Route 491 while considering his options.

After all, if Tyki failed to perform in the biannual show-and-tell, then people might get the impression that he was calling it quits, and this would by no means end well for anyone, least of all for him.

However, with the reunion taking place in Oregon and him currently nearing the border between Colorado and Utah, Tyki did have more than a bit of time and mileage to overcome before reaching his final destination.

Hoh, final? Well, if he didn't pick his next victim soon, then it might as well be.

Thus, Tyki found himself driving through a dry-looking landscape on a stretch of road that was not only long but also empty for the most part. It was not completely deserted per se, but it was definitely close enough. Also, it was fairly hot, meaning that he had the car's AC on full blast as he himself blasted through the mostly flat landscape, glimpsing mountains off into the far distance and perhaps a few scattered bushes and utility poles supporting the power lines. Eventually, the latter melted into cultivated farmland.

Soon after that, Tyki caught sight of a small number of trees by the roadside. They, along with a sign, marked the spot of a state line tavern. There was a rugged-looking building and the sign announcing it also promised antiques one mile ahead, but Tyki hardly had any interest in that.

Judging by how the place looked, Tyki didn't even know whether it was still operating or not. Besides, Tyki had brought along his own supplies and kept them in a cooler that took up about half of the backseat; a huge bag of clothing and other necessities occupied the rest. Thus, he saw little need to check if the tavern was still up and running as he took a slight break. Instead, he took some time to rest, drink, eat, and relieve himself before getting back onto the road.

Tyki had just crossed into Utah when he had first seen him; when he had caught his first glimpse. He had just passed a sign warning him that _the road may be icy._ Tyki had smirked at that, because considering the sweltering heat outside, icy roads had seemed rather unlikely. He had then passed a sign telling him to put his seatbelt on, and his smirk had by no means diminished.

It was then that he had caught sight of a heat-blurred figure in the distance; the silhouette of someone walking by the roadside. From a distance, they had looked rather peculiar, but as he approached, Tyki noted with some surprise that there appeared to be someone walking with a black umbrella on the edge of the asphalt. It was a peculiar sight; Tyki had to admit as much. Curiosity piqued, he slowed his speed to get a better look; they were still quite far away, but now they had stopped. From what Tyki could see, they appeared to be contemplating the green sign ahead that announced the distance to the town of Monticello as well as that to Salt Lake City.

Unable to recall having passed any abandoned vehicles for the last twelve miles or so, Tyki contemplated his own options. The figure could only really be either one out of two things: a lost hitchhiker or a vivid hallucination. If it was the former, well‒

Surprisingly, they didn't even turn around when Tyki made his approach or even as he pulled over, winding down his window slightly. "Hey, you lost?"

The figure startled slightly and then turned partially, giving Tyki an opportunity to confirm that the other was indeed a he and indeed a teenager, although the stark whiteness of the other's hair definitely proved unusual; some fashion statement perhaps? The grey eyes surveying him also proved something of a surprise, evidently weary but wary in a way that definitely fuelled his interest.

"It's rather hot out, isn't it?" Tyki tried and gained a rather deadpan look in response, but still no answer; annoying yes, but also intriguing. "How about a lift into town?"

The stranger's eyebrow climbed at the offer. Then, grey eyes flickered briefly to gauge the distance to the nearest outpost of civilisation. "I think I'll manage," the boy eventually decided, hoisting his backpack further up his shoulder as he seemingly prepared to continue the trek.

"You sure?" Tyki gained a somewhat irritated look for that, but remained amiable. "You look like you could use some water and AC."

From the way the other stiffened, Tyki knew he had hit an in. Moments later, a noticeable sag in the other's posture proved that it was a good one.

"I could use some AC," the other muttered, folding his umbrella before walking up to the car, opening the door to the passenger seat and sliding into it. Then, with the pack on his lap, the young vagabond reached into it and kept his hand there, seemingly clutching something. Tyki figured it was probably a knife or possibly even a handgun; he found himself trying to keep his face straight while inwardly applauding the other's keen instincts of self-preservation, simultaneously experiencing some excitement at the thought of outwitting and overpowering them.

Truth to be told, it would probably be too easy. If he put his seatbelt on and then slammed on his breaks, odds were that the action would break the other's concentration long enough for Tyki to subdue him, especially since the boy was not wearing a seatbelt. Then again, offering up a spiked beverage also had its advantages. Then again‒

"Put your seatbelt on. There was a sign a while back."

There was really no need to hurry.

 **-o0o-**


	2. Chapter 2

_Previously on the Murder Club: A serial killer on a road trip picks up a strange hitchhiker. This is either his best or his worst decision to date._

 **-o0o-**

The distance to Monticello, Utah, was roughly 17 miles. However, Tyki did not keep track of the time it took in getting there. Idly, he noted how the farmlands turned into bush land and eventually back into farmland again. Then there was bush land again, then farmland. Alone, driving through it would have been immensely tedious. With company however‒

"Would you mind if I put on the radio? If it gets too quiet in here, then I might lose focus."

His hitchhiker offered up a mild scoff at that. "Your car, your rules," the boy muttered at last.

Tyki took his word for it.

Gradually, the mountains grew closer, becoming less like an ever present mirage and more like a tangible obstacle to overcome. Granted, they were still a fair distance away, but the scattered farmhouses they had passed and the buildings in sight promised civilisation farther up ahead. Soon thereafter, they reached the outskirts of Monticello, passing by a bunch of trucks parked a bit to the side of the road. Then, yet another patch of bushes and farmland followed before there was another patch of scattered houses along with a billboard promising burgers, pizza and ice-cream so long as one turned right at the stop half a mile ahead.

A bit farther ahead, another billboard promised a gas station.

Tyki found himself moderately interested in either alternative; burgers typically meant fries but gas stations of the better variety typically promised not only gas but also some type of sustenance. Tyki was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed the billboard attached to one of the buildings on the side of the road, announcing it as a storage facility. Taking a moment to consider the many serial killers who had used similar facilities for storing their trophies, Tyki kept driving, registering the presence of a restaurant, another storage facility and a couple of houses before they reached an intersection.

After that, the houses gradually multiplied, and so did the selection of eateries. Granted, the selection was still rather small, but at least it was there. There was also a gas station, which only promised diesel, and two inns, one inn on each side of the road. After that, there was a well-tended, albeit somewhat dry lawn with a couple of trees and a plaque proclaiming it the Veterans Memorial Park. After that followed a small monument on one side of the road and yet another gas station on the other, then an intersection and then yet another gas station on the other side of that; the one foretold in the earlier billboard.

While waiting at the traffic lights, Tyki chanced yet another glance at his silent companion, confirming that they remained vigilant. Oh well. "You hungry? I haven't had lunch yet."

 **-o0o-**

Though Tyki had yet to establish proper habits, it was safe to say that treating a potential victim to food was not among them. However, Tyki still had to admit that it was a relatively fascinating (albeit at the same time kind of gross) experience, watching the boy stuff himself with at least twice the number of hamburgers Tyki would have expected. That having been said, Tyki still got his fries; it was a sizeable serving. He took the time to savour them too, meaning that the boy finished his burgers way ahead of him.

"Hoh? Ditching me already, are you?"

Instead of offering up a vocal response, the boy motioned for the men's room.

"If so, then is there really a need to bring your bag? I could watch it for you if you want."

It was a kind offer. Of course, there was more to it than that.

"No need," the boy scoffed, taking his bag and all.

Given the public location and possible audience, Tyki merely shrugged, conceding his loss at least for now while mentally applauding the boy's instincts of self-preservation. After all, leaving something important behind oftentimes meant having to come back to retrieve it. Granted, leaving something temporarily in the care of a stranger also meant bearing the risk of seeing it stolen. All things considered though, it was questionable whether or not the boy was actually carrying anything particularly valuable.

Tyki could find himself another potential victim. There were after all plenty of candidates so long as he wasn't too picky about it. After all, unlike some other predators, Tyki did not need to worry all too much about whether or not there was something fundamentally wrong with his prey; he wasn't planning on eating them after all. Granted, the idea of cannibalism had been brought up at one point, yes. It had only been retained long enough for Tyki to draw the conclusion that he was much too disgusted by the thought though. There was, after all, a good reason for why Tyki had only tried his hand at proper dismemberment once; he was decidedly fine with blood and gore in general, but the smell and texture of entrails was simply‒

The French fried potato Tyki had been contemplating was abruptly plucked from between his fingers. Tyki barely had enough time to register the fact before it had been devoured.

Once Tyki had somewhat gotten over the shock of having his food stolen by his intended victim, he registered the backpack slung over the boy's shoulder, noting that it looked decidedly fuller than previously.

Tyki had a sneaking suspicion.

 **-o0o-**

When Tyki returned from his own trip to the men's room, he was mildly surprised to find that not only did most of his fries remain, but also the hitchhiker, idly sipping a chocolate milkshake. Really‒ "You've got nerve; I give you that."

"I've also got your wallet," the boy responded, putting it on the table. "You can have it back now."

Public location or not, fact remained that Tyki had killed people for a whole lot less. Still‒

He slid into his seat and checked the wallet, quickly counting through his notes. Save for the ones he had spent himself, there was none missing. "You steal a wallet and all you take is pocket change? Wasted opportunity much?"

The boy shrugged mildly at that, vacating his seat while still sipping the milkshake. Compared to the earlier paranoia, this idle yet somehow ruthless nonchalance was an interesting turn of events. "Thanks for the lift." The dismissal was accompanied by a slight salute. "And for the food. See you around, Mr. Mikk."

That last part sounded awfully insincere. Tyki nevertheless returned the salute with a slight wave of his own. Then, while watching the other's casual exit, he munched on his remaining fries and mulled over which method he would use in the decidedly unlikely occurrence of another encounter.

Still, Tyki supposed it could have been worse; if the little rascal had made it off with the car keys, then Tyki would have lost access not only to his primary mode of transportation but also to the emergency credit cards hidden inside it.

When push came to shove, Sheril had after all not yet outgrown his overbearing tendencies, and with a fair deal of money to his name, the man usually proved more than willing to provide additional funds, should the need for such arise. Granted, it was still the kind of last resort Tyki would rather not utilise, given the unwanted side effects. Fact also remained that Tyki would rather not have explained how a teenager had made it off with Tyki's car and cards, to spare himself from the embarrassment if nothing else. Still‒

An alarmingly genuine smile threatened to break out on his face. His blood was stirring. "See you around, huh?"

 **-o0o-**

Truth to be told, it had taken at least two days before Tyki fully began to realise that he was in trouble. By then, he cursed the fact that he hadn't done away with the boy out on the road; he could've hidden the body out in the bush lands and let nature have at it. But no, he had opted to play it cool, which in a fairly roundabout way had left him in his current predicament.

Now, roughly a week after the hitchhiker incident, Tyki had a fresh corpse in the trunk. He was also driving alongside a dark road, looking for a good place to pull over and dispose of it. Frankly, even though Tyki only seldom planned very far ahead, this particular kill had been particularly rash, which was why Tyki had wasted no time in getting back onto the road.

As it turned out, while the dark made it less likely for anyone to see him getting rid of a body, it also made it decidedly more difficult for Tyki to find a decent dumping ground. After all‒

Visible movement just on the outer edges of his headlights brought Tyki's thoughts to a standstill. With the screech of slammed breaks, so did the car.

Tyki would have expected a deer or maybe a moose or a coyote or a fox or something similar. He certainly hadn't been expecting a human, and a blood-covered, familiar one at that.

Against better judgement, Tyki got out to have a better look.

Obviously affected by the brightness of the headlights, the other shielded their eyes and face. They were obviously trying to determine Tyki's identity and intentions, probably deciding whether or not to feign victimhood, to either lure him in or to invoke sympathy and a desire to help. And they obviously needed help, help of some sort. It was a bit hard to tell in the bright light, but Tyki thought that he saw a number of bruises that had not been there the week before.

Again, against better judgement, Tyki made his decision. "Are you alright?"

Three metres; at such a relatively small distance, he saw the boy's eyes widen slightly before narrowing. It took another moment or so before the other recognised him. "Oh, it's _you_."

"It's me," Tyki readily affirmed, stepping out into the light column, shrinking the distance to about two and a half metres. "Are you hurt?"

The other shrugged mildly at that. "You should see the other guy."

Ah, there it was; the slip that confirmed what Tyki had already been suspecting. Moments later, the boy also realised this, going by the momentary look of horror.

"Is he in there?" Tyki asked, making a vague gesture towards the nearby woods.

The boy feigned ignorance. "Who?"

"The other guy."

Now that earned him a definite look. "No."

"Is that so?"

The look sharpened into a definite glare. "Why do you ask?" the boy snapped, a switchblade suddenly in his grip. "Would you like to join him?"

 **-o0o-**


	3. Chapter 3

_Previously on the Murder Club: Driving along a dark road looking for a decent dumping ground, Tyki finds a bloody (and armed) hitchhiker instead._

 **-o0o-**

This was by no means the first time Tyki had found himself at knifepoint, but he was fairly sure this was a first of some sort.

"Why do you ask?" asked the hitchhiker, holding the knife. "Would you like to join him?"

Was there even a proper way to respond to that? All things considered, there probably wasn't. Still‒ "Not particularly. Would you?"

That earned him another stare, although this one seemed puzzled rather than angry. The knife was lowered too, but only ever so slightly. "No."

Getting stabbed wasn't on Tyki's agenda. As things turned out, stabbing the boy wasn't on it either though. It seemed like a long shot, but‒ "The knife," he prompted.

 **-o0o-**

A common denominator that put serial killers aside from regular mass murderers was not just the cooling down period between kills. There was also the rather prevalent tendency of collecting memorabilia. Of course, while many harboured the urge to preserve some type of reminder, their motives differed greatly. Most took trophies in order to later re-experience past thrills of a rather perverse nature. For others however, be it a relatively limited number, the trophies were just that; souvenirs or medals of past accomplishments.

That having been said, Tyki himself had never quite developed a taste for the practice. Perhaps his lack of sexual motives along with his relatively wide striking range had played some part in it; most killers tended to go for a certain type of victim and to gather certain types of trophies after all, typically jewellery or articles of clothing.

Now Tyki's approach was a far more practical one. Rather, jewellery was one of the things that he generally avoided. Its monetary value aside, Tyki reasoned that he would rather just steal cash and cigarettes directly than risk getting caught pawning some easily recognisable necklace once money ran low. Then again, perhaps he just wasn't sentimental enough.

However, there was another thing that set Tyki apart from other serial killers as well as from the other members of the Murder Club. The latter in particular recalled their first kills with some degree of fondness, reminiscing about them akin to one reminiscing about their first kiss. Granted, like first kisses, first kills tended to be rather sloppy; messy, even if it had been carefully planned out beforehand.

Tyki's first kill had been insignificant. Truth to be told, it had come closer to manslaughter than actual murder. Heading back home after a particularly wet night, Tyki the college student had been minding his own business when someone had seen him and thought he had looked like a suitable victim. Finding himself at gunpoint, he had sobered up pretty quickly. However, rather than fear, Tyki recalled feeling annoyed. Then, while reaching for his wallet, his fingertips had brushed against the switchblade folded up in his pocket.

Killing the man had not been on Tyki's agenda; scaring him perhaps, but nothing much beyond that. However, with a sudden escalation of the situation, Tyki had reacted instinctually, employing knowledge derived from those action movies he had liked watching with his roommates.

It had been messy to say the very least, bloody. Still, it was only afterwards, when reality had come crashing in, that Tyki had begun to panic. How he had made it home without being seen was anyone's guess. Once safely inside the apartment though, thankfully empty save for him, Tyki had locked eyes with himself in the bathroom mirror and realised that he needed to act quickly.

Thankfully, even though Tyki had pretty much severed an artery of the would-be robber, the spray of blood had been directed mostly away from him. As such, he had not, as he had initially feared, left behind a very incriminating blood trail. Granted, there were still traces of blood on his shoes and clothing. The forces of nature itself seemed to be his allies though, given that the drizzle from earlier had turned into an outright downpour.

Relieved yet at the same time very stressed, Tyki had considered his options. Then, after a great internal struggle, he had finally given in and made the call.

Sheril had been surprised but quick on the uptake, undertaking the five-hour drive at three in the morning with next to no complaint.

But no, Tyki's first kill was not anything that he was particularly keen on remembering. The same pretty much applied for the second, the third and the fourth. Granted, Tyki had handled the rest a whole lot better than the first, but practice makes perfect and whatnot. Still, in a way, they had horrified him in an entirely new way; they had made him realise that he and Sheril were not so different after all. Sheril was still the extremer one, yes, but still.

Of course, to be fair, Sheril's first kill had not been a walk in the park either. It had been decidedly more calculated than Tyki's, yes; the fact that Sheril had perpetrated it at such a tender age had been all the more disturbing, but impressive nevertheless. Sheril had started out young; not quite as young as Road, but still way younger than Tyki. He had also been a lot calmer, both before and afterwards, because Tyki had emptied the contents of his stomach after his first. The latter might also have been the alcohol's fault, yes. However, whichever was ultimately the case, fact remained that Tyki had derived neither pleasure nor satisfaction from the ordeal, neither during it nor afterwards.

In a way, Tyki supposed killing was a bit like drinking, taking drugs or smoking; the first impression was seldom good. Once the initial impression had been overcome however, then it was pretty easy to get hooked. And, like the case with most drugs, it wasn't easy to quit killing once you had gotten started. Still, Tyki liked a challenge. So‒ "Why don't you give me that knife?"

The response was quick, like the snap of a whip. "Why don't you fuck off and die?"

Whoa. "Rude. I'm just trying to help."

The second response was just as quick. "I don't need it."

Tyki smirked. "You're covered in blood, walking along a deserted road at night while looking decidedly unsteady. Now, I don't know what you're hopped up on besides adrenaline, but‒If you give me the knife, then I won't call the cops on you."

No one had ever accused Tyki of being kind. Odd? Certainly. Creepy? Occasionally, yes. Mysterious? Yeah, certainly. Sexy? Well, a whole lot of his female victims had seemed to think so, at least initially. Kindness however was not something that Tyki typically dabbled in, save for when retaining at least the illusion of it served his objectives. This one had good instincts though, so Tyki's usual arsenal of tricks would only take him so far.

"Go ahead," the boy snapped, keeping up the bravado in spite of the very obvious physical tremor. "I dare you."

On one hand, Tyki felt sorely tempted to do just that. After all, even if he summoned the cops to the scene, there was a definite possibility that he would still get away with it. After all, if he called in a bloody and armed teenager walking along the highway, then the police would hardly have a reason to check out Tyki's trunk now, would they? Then again, if he called and made a report and the first responders brought along dogs, then‒ Tyki would rather try his luck with the teenager, knife or no knife. "Look, we could do this all night, but I've got stuff to do and places to be and that arm of yours has to be getting tired, eh?"

The knife was not lowered, but the boy drew it closer to himself, evidently guarded. "What do you want?"

That was a rather excellent question actually.

 **-o0o-**

Throughout the years, Tyki had wanted a lot of different things, many of them fickle and materialistic, like candy or the latest technological wonder popular amongst his generation. Then, there had obviously been cigarettes and booze, things his overbearing older brother had stubbornly refused to provide for him.

Even now, Sheril frowned upon these habits, as if his own wine-drinking was somehow better. Granted, Sheril's drinking probably took place in a much classier setting, yes. No matter the pretences though, drinking was still drinking, even if the glasses and the consumed amount differed. Of course, when it came to Sheril, matters usually came down to semantics, so Tyki generally knew better than to debate the issue. Besides, Sheril had always retained a habit of explicitly forbidding Tyki from doing something right before or immediately after partaking in said activity himself.

" _Don't stay out late,"_ the teenaged Sheril would say before heading out himself, returning in the wee hours of the morning wearing _that_ look again. _"Don't talk to strangers,"_ he would say, shortly before engaging in a friendly conversation with the creep down the street. _"Don't follow strange people into the forest,_ " he would say, emerging alone from the same forest, slightly out of breath and sometimes with cuts and bruises. _"I don't care if they say they have candy. No is still no."_

And, for further emphasis, Sheril would occasionally grab Tyki tightly by the shoulders, look him deep into the eyes and say something along the lines of: _"If they try to touch you or feed you anything or even look at you strangely, then you come tell me straight away, 'kay? And if I'm not around, God forbid, then be loud, aim for the groin and run!"_

Years along the line, Tyki had told some of his drinking buddies a few anecdotes of Sheril's life lessons. Even though Tyki might have toned things down a bit and edited out most of the gruesome details, fact still remained that only a handful had believed him. _"Your brother must've had it rough, looking after someone as dense as you,"_ one of them had noted. Although Tyki did not like being called dense, he had still been willing to admit they had had a valid point; he was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, though he had become a somewhat better judge of character in recent years. Practice makes perfect and whatnot.

"What do I want?" Tyki repeated, scratching his head. "The knife would be a good start."

The boy held it out to the side and then dropped it. It clattered on the asphalt, but Tyki knew better than to be distracted; it was a classical technique to turn the tables on an opponent. Most people would after all focus on the knife, realising moments too late that the real danger lurked elsewhere.

"Kick it towards me."

Going by the look sent his way, the boy would much rather kick Tyki in the groin and stab him than obey. Still, he eventually did it, though it was obviously a not only grudging but also strenuous endeavour. Nevertheless, Tyki appreciated the effort. He bent down to retrieve it without shifting focus from the boy who regarded him warily in return.

Briefly, Tyki considered paying homage to the trick the other had pulled on him last time around. Ultimately though, Tyki knew himself to be a whole lot smarter than that. It would have been funny and interesting no doubt. However, it would also have put him in unnecessary danger, not to even mention it being a waste of effort on his part, considering just how long it had taken him to get the other to surrender the knife in the first place.

Still, Tyki found himself even harder pressed to restrain the sudden and completely foreign urge to pat the other on the head, returning to the car to fetch a blanket from the backseat. Grey eyes followed his every move, but thankfully, the boy didn't bolt. He looked more than ready to do so however, even though Tyki made a very conscious effort to remain unthreatening. "Here, take it."

The grey eyes widened briefly and then narrowed, the pale face settling into an expression of puzzled distrust. "Why?"

Tyki considered it briefly. He didn't have a very good answer; none that he could immediately put into words at any rate. Or well, to be exact, he only had one good motivation at hand: "Because it's cheaper and easier to discard some clothes and a blanket than getting the blood out of my seats?"

Granted, Tyki did know a thing or two about getting rid of bloodstains. Still, that didn't make it any less of a pain in the ass.

"Who says I'm getting into the car with you?" the boy snapped, tensing as Tyki moved.

Soon thereafter, Tyki produced a half-squished candy bar from his pocket, dangling it. "Want one?"

The boy snorted now. "Really? What's next? _'Get in the car. We're going to Candy Land'_?"

To the extent of Tyki's knowledge, _Candy Land_ was technically the name of a very simple board game. Oh well. "Then how about _'Get in. We're going to Vegas'_?"

That earned him a decidedly deadpan look. "Okay, look," the bloody hitchhiker finally spat, taking a measured step backwards. "Today has been terrible. It doesn't seem to be improving either, so… please just fuck off, _compadre_."

Tyki smiled at that. "Well, that's improvement, I guess."

That earned him a slight frown that swiftly morphed into a more guarded expression. "Improvement?"

 **-o0o-**


	4. Chapter 4

_Previously on the Murder Club: Tyki reminisced about his past. The hitchhiker was rude._

 **-o0o-**

A few hours prior, Tyki would never have imagined finding himself in this kind of situation. Actually, he still wasn't sure about what to do in this kind of situation, even if he knew exactly how it had come about. So, what was the situation? Well‒

The current situation was this: He was kneeling on the bathroom floor in a motel. To be specific, he was kneeling behind someone, holding the hair away from their face while they threw up the meagre contents of their stomach; it was mostly just fluid, but no less gross in Tyki's private opinion. Mind you, he was not particularly squeamish, except when bowels were somehow involved; those were pretty damned disgusting, and speaking of disgusting things‒

"You think that you can manage for a sec? I need to fetch some stuff from the car."

In all actuality, Tyki should really just head out to the car, stick the key into the ignition, twist it and then floor it out of there before‒ _"I'm okay."_

Tyki would beg to differ, but‒ "I know, and this will only take a sec."

He didn't even bother putting on his jacket as he jogged out to the car; the jacket would have done him little good anyway, because it was still drenched from earlier. The rain still hadn't let up though. By the time Tyki got to his car, his clothes were already clinging uncomfortably to his frame; he didn't find it in himself to care an awful lot though, because he was planning on taking a shower later anyway.

After retrieving the tin box hidden beneath the passenger seat, Tyki swiftly headed back inside, shutting and locking the door behind him before leaning his back against it, reminiscing about the events that had led up to this point.

First of all, there was picking up the bloody hitchhiker, the one currently doubled over in the bathroom.

Secondly, there was extracting the details about what had occurred. Easier said than done.

Then there was returning to the scene of the crime, the very thing that all smart serial killers avoided. Never mind the fact that it hadn't even been Tyki's own crime scene; turning up at a crime scene always carried the risk of exposure. After all, no matter how smart a killer was or how skilled they were at disposing of evidence, there was absolutely no certainty that they would not leave behind some type of trail, and with a bit of bad luck, one that could be picked up.

Of course, a lot of that was probably just Tyki's paranoia speaking. Unlike many of his associates, Tyki was not above believing that he could get caught if he slipped up a time too many. Granted, he had a fairly wide striking range and a tendency to pay in cash. Tyki also used relatively unremarkable methods as far as killing was concerned, which meant that there was nothing particularly noteworthy about his MO.

As for the MO of his companion, Tyki was undeniably curious. After all, he had arrived at the scene thinking this was either a first kill or possibly a second, third or fourth; in other words, the work of a budding killer rather than an experienced one. Crouching down on the floor, Tyki had found himself admiring the other's handiwork.

After all, although the aim had certainly been a bit off, the tool and utilised force had more than made up for the skewed angle. Looking at the scene, Tyki found it very likely that the victim had bled out within minutes. There were far worse ways to go, and after Tyki had surveyed the area a bit more closely, he was happy that the guy had likely been conscious and aware of the fate awaiting him.

Tyki might not have been very religious. He also wasn't a very good person, being a serial killer and all. However, Tyki still believed that there was a special place in Hell reserved for people who assaulted children. Actually, Tyki realised that he very likely had an issue with all types of sexual predators, even though he was not as zealous as Sheril when it came to seeking them out.

People who viewed themselves as hunters seldom imagined that they could also become hunted themselves. The predators hardly expected their targets to turn the tables on them; they expected resistance, yes, and some found that resistance to be an absolutely integral part of the experience. Other wanted no resistance, resorting to drugs and weapons and restraints to gain the upper hand. The one who had bled out on the floor had definitely belonged to the latter.

The man had had two quite extensive collections; one collection of various pills and such shit and another with a photographs, both printed ones and digital ones. There were also recordings, even VHS-tapes, but Tyki sure as heck wasn't going to go down that rabbit hole. Instead, having come to grasps with the general scenario at hand, Tyki had gone to seek out the hitchhiker.

Tyki had found him sitting out on the doorstep looking pretty dazed, huddled in the blanket and clutching it like a lifeline. All things considered, Tyki probably shouldn't have brought him back there, but‒ "Hey, are you still in there?"

Tyki had not received an answer immediately, but when he had reached out to touch the boy's hair, the boy had swatted his hand away and glared, proving that he wasn't all gone yet. "Don't touch me."

Tyki had held up his hands in mock surrender, simply because. "No touching, got it. Now..."

He had leaned down slightly. "Have you ever disposed of a dead body before?"

 **-o0o-**

By the time that Tyki got back inside of the motel room, it was almost eerily quiet. He set down the tin box onto the bed and then approached the bathroom door, wondering whether or not he ought to expect some type of ambush. Granted, it would have been an absolutely shitty way of repaying Tyki after all this, but Tyki didn't make the rules on how some people operated now, did he?

Pressing down the handle, Tyki opened the door just a crack. Nothing. He opened it a bit further and then hit a stop. Tyki resisted the surfacing urge to stick his head inside and determine the exact nature of this obstacle, he really did; for about five seconds or so. Because by sticking his head inside, Tyki was able to determine what he had already suspected; his companion, already worn out from everything, had lost their fight against mounting exhaustion and now lay on the bathroom floor, looking a lot less alive than a lot of the corpses Tyki had seen.

It was a tight fit for Tyki to slip through the crack. Once inside though, it would be an easy matter to remove the unconscious doorstopper. Sighing, Tyki crouched down and reached out to touch the boy's shoulder, but the latter was out cold… or not, considering the fever and all. Anyways, there was no reaction, and as much as Tyki wanted to shower, he honestly wasn't into showering with an audience, even if said audience was currently out of it.

Tyki scooped the boy up, using his foot to open the door fully. He carefully deposited him onto one of the beds, arranging the boy's body in something akin to the recovery position before heading off.

The water pressure was a bit on the low side, but in Tyki's mind, the shower still made it to his top ten. It felt good to have the water wash over him, to have it wash away lingering dirt and smells. After all, being a habitual smoker was one thing, and smelling of smoke and gasoline was another thing altogether.

Arson really wasn't Tyki's cup of tea. Considering everything though, it had been the greatest option at hand; they had both been careless after all. Besides, the bastard on the floor was already going to Hell, so Tyki had figured that he might as well give him a good send-off. Tyki had also been able to provide him with a travelling companion; popping the trunk open, he had retrieved the body of his latest victim and some other stuff that he needed. The boy's eyes had followed him all the way.

The fire would no doubt attract attention, but so would the highly incriminating photographs contained in the box that Tyki had put into the offender's car, making sure not to leave any obvious hairs or fingerprints behind. There, he had also found and retrieved a familiar pack; the boy's eyes had grown wide at the sight of it, and he had stared at Tyki for a moment in surprise before his expression had closed back up. Tyki had studied the expression for a moment before finally making his decision. "Go wait in the car."

Surprisingly, the boy had obeyed, taking the pack and stumbling off in direction of the car. For a while, Tyki had just stood there, watching, wondering whether or not the other would risk a mad dash into the woods the moment Tyki's back was turned.

As such, Tyki had been pleasantly surprised when he had exited the house to find the hitchhiker passed out in the passenger seat. Watching him, it had occurred to Tyki just how easy it would have been to do away with him now and to get rid of the body afterwards. That time would have been the opportune moment to do so, but Tyki hadn't.

Had Sheril been dead, then he would have rolled in his grave, no doubt.

Emerging from the shower with a towel around his waist and using another to rub his hair dry, Tyki should not have been surprised to find a knife at his throat the moment he stepped out of the bathroom; the little brat must have gone through the pockets of Tyki's jacket while he was in the shower. Smart. Confronting him instead of hightailing it out of there however? Possibly not so smart.

Then again, the latter issue could definitely be debated, because the boy was visibly winded, sweating and trembling more pronouncedly than before. The voice remained steady though, and the gaze steady and dark; he either had no fear or was hiding it very well. "What do you want from me, Tyki Mikk?"

The boy uttered the name like it was a curse; Tyki found that he very much liked the sound of it.

"Well… your name would be a good start, I guess?"

 **-o0o-**


End file.
